


on what ground i was founded

by foxwatson



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Creative License, Episode: s03e05 A Life in the Day, Fix-It, M/M, general fuckery with magic and dreams and timelines because uh, hey look it's a, since all the kids are doing them and i desperately needed one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-15 22:50:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18678916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxwatson/pseuds/foxwatson
Summary: Eliot’s trying to take care of himself in Fillory, and trying to be brave, when he starts receiving letters Quentin wrote in their alternate timeline - letters addressed to Eliot, after he’d died. Then Eliot starts having strangely vivid dreams of Q, too.





	1. words hung above

**Author's Note:**

> title from hozier's shrike. this is a post-s4 fic that probably does a significant amount of fuckery with like. what is possible. also it's kind of sad but i promise the whole point is the happy ending.

Fillory was beautiful. All the misery and pain and self-hatred in the world couldn’t stop Eliot from feeling a kind of balm just stepping into Fillory. He’d made some of his best memories here - finally felt at home here, in a few different ways. He loved it here.

 

After everything that had happened, everyone was essentially going their own way again. He and Margo had come here - only to find they were 300 years in the future and right in the middle of an absolute clusterfuck. For a few days, the two of them had found someplace to set up a base, talked over their options, debated about their next steps. In the end, they’d come to a decision. Margo wanted her kingdom back - but she was going to need more help than just Eliot, while he was still healing. Eliot felt a little better in Fillory - a little less likely to drink himself to death, a little more like he might heal physically, a little safer from his own mind and from the memories he left in the city and at Brakebills. They decided that Eliot would stay in Fillory, keep an eye on things, send a bunny if he needed anything, and that Margo would come and go as she needed to, and check in on him when she could.

 

So far, the plan was working. He was used to Fillory at this point, he’d lived here long enough - one whole lifetime and what felt like half of another. It was a little odd, not having a quest or a kingdom to defend, or the big pressing matter of the world’s imminent destruction on his plate, but he was trying to make the most of it and trying to stop spending every waking moment wishing he was dead.

 

He knew if he did anything drastic, Margo would bring him back to life just to kill him again. He also knew that it would have disappointed Q - and as much as he tried not to think about that, he didn’t want to do that either.

 

Eliot spent most of his time finding ways to fix up the cabin he and Margo were making into a home. He fixed up a bar, decorated their sitting room, gave Margo a bedroom to die for. He went on walks until his pain overwhelmed him and he had to take a break.

 

Essentially, he was learning how to make a life for himself, in the wake of the greatest tragedy he’d probably ever experience. It felt a little overdramatic to call it that, but it was probably true. It seemed unlikely after everything that he’d outlive Margo, so this would probably be the hardest thing he had to live through - and it wasn’t really getting easier. Still, he was trying. And trying was going okay.

 

Then again, he wasn’t exactly taking any of this lying down. He was healing, his magic wasn’t what it used to be, but it was possible that as much as he could, Eliot had been attempting to dabble in necromancy. It was largely impossible, and even more impossible because Eliot wasn’t at full strength, but he assumed that was the only thing to be blamed for the letters.

 

He’d walked long enough to reach the Mosaic cottage and thought desperately of Q the whole way there when the first letter popped into existence.

 

When he grabbed the paper out of the air and recognized the handwriting, his knees went weak and he nearly fell. He managed to steady himself against a tree, with the use of his cane, but still all the air had gone out of his lungs.

 

_Eliot,_

_I’m writing this without really knowing why I’m doing it. You’re dead. I’m stuck here. All I can do is make arrangements and wait for Teddy to come and visit. The mosaic is solved. There’s nothing else left to do. I think about you every day. I will, until I die._

 

It wasn’t much. It was clearly from the alternate timeline, but... It was something. Proof someone or something could hear him, proof at least some part of Quentin was still here, and could give him something.

 

He stood there, by the Mosaic, talking and casting into the air, until it was dark, and he was too weak to walk back. Carefully, he limped inside, and found the place dusty but in tact. The air was musty, the bed a little worse for wear, but Eliot fell into it and knew it could have been worse.

 

Something about being back in the bed made him dream of Q. They were together again, in the cottage, in the quiet and the dark. Neither of them spoke. He pulled Q close against his chest, felt the breath against his shoulder, Q’s hair brushing against his neck. Eliot could practically feel the rough linen of a sleep shirt against his hand, his arm around Q’s waist, lips against his collarbone - and then he woke up.

 

When he got out of bed in the morning, still in the same rumpled clothes, he glanced around the cottage. It was practically haunted by memories. There wasn’t an inch of the place Eliot could look at without remembering something he or Q or Teddy had done there. His chest genuinely ached, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Q,” he admitted to the empty room.

 

He heard another quiet pop, and the flutter of paper.

 

He picked the new letter up off the ground.

 

_Eliot,_

_I don’t know if I can do this. You know I’m not great at taking care of myself at the best of times - but the last thing I want is for Teddy to come visit and have both of us gone so soon. Every time I think about the fact that you didn’t live to see the mosaic finished, I get so angry. You deserved to be here. We had a good life - I’m not as angry as I could have been, but if one of us deserved to see it, it was you. You’d probably say the same about me, but you’re the one who became High King of Fillory. You deserved that, too._

_I hope if there’s an afterlife, it’s just like this one. Just us, and this cottage. Maybe no mosaic, but the rest of it was good. I’ll see you there soon - but not too soon._

 

Eliot laughed, but he knew it was a little watery. There was something here - something in the air in Fillory, something he’d done, and somehow, these letters were talking to him. Q was talking to him.

 

“All right, you’ve made your point. I’ll keep at it.”

 

Eliot found he didn’t want to leave yet, and though that was in no small part due to whatever was letting him talk to Quentin, there was something just about being back in the cottage again. The pain of remembering, of seeing all the things they’d shared, it was a little like the sweet ache of pressing on a fresh bruise. He wanted to stay for another day or two, at least, to see what he could figure out. Margo shouldn’t be back any sooner than that, so he had a little time to linger.

 

At least one more night, before the long walk back.

 

Eliot spent the day cleaning up the cottage. He swept the floors, using the broom as a cane to lean on when he needed to. He shook out the bedsheets, as much as he could on his own. He opened all the windows and the doors, and found that even just that made the place much less musty.

 

By the time dusk settled over Fillory, the cottage was practically livable again. He made himself dinner, roasted fruits and vegetables he could forage, and then he settled in for the night. It was silly, really, compared to everything else, but another part of the reason he’d stayed was in the hopes that he would dream of Q again.

 

Fortunately, he did.

 

This time, he made the most of it. He pulled Q’s face to his, and kissed him, over and over. He ran his fingers through Q’s hair, took in the smell and the feel of him as much as he could.

 

“I miss you,” he whispered, right against his favorite spot right at Q’s temple.

 

“I miss you, too, El,” Q said back.

 

Eliot shivered, in the dream, surprised by Q’s voice, surprised that it was just the same, and clear as a bell.

 

That moment stuck with him, even as he woke. It felt... real. Strangely, startling real.

 

He wanted to stay longer at the cottage, but he knew he should at least set something so when Margo did come back, she could know where he was - and the best way to do that was to go back, at least temporarily.

 

Eliot dressed, picked up his cane, and closed the cottage back up. He limped outside to the Mosaic, and stood in the center of it, looking around, hunting for a sign.

 

“Hey, Q? There’s no chance you can magically heal me or anything is there? Maybe even just give me a nice shiny neon sign that you’re here to carry me through the taxing walk home?”

 

For a moment, there was silence.

 

Then, a letter fluttered down right in front of Eliot. He grabbed it, and laughed, shocked and overwhelmed.

 

_Eliot,_

_Do you remember the first time Teddy got hurt? It was after Arielle died, and I panicked, immediately, in true Coldwater fashion. You, though. You got me to take deep breaths, and then you picked Teddy up and took him inside, and you distracted him while you cleaned him up. You made him laugh by making jokes about me, and about how I fall down all the time (ha ha, you jerk). You even used one of the handkerchiefs you traded for to wrap up his knee. You told me I should be the one to kiss it better, so I did. He hugged both of us before he ran off again._

_You were a really incredible dad, El. I couldn’t have done it without you. I know that wasn’t exactly part of your whole life plan, but I think you were amazing._

 

Reading Q’s memories of their son, remembering how they all used to take care of each other, it was almost enough to make Eliot forget about his aches all the way back to the cabin he shared with Margo.

 

After the long, slow walk back, Eliot took the letters he’d found so far and laid them out next to each other. It didn’t seem like they were connected - he couldn’t find any secret message that would come from laying them all out together as he collected more. Instead, it was clear that if there was a letter for it, Q could somehow send Eliot the occasional message by sending him a letter that already existed in the other timeline. It was a frustrating way to communicate, to put it mildly, but it was so, so much better than nothing.

 

The walk home and his own thoughts had taken up enough of the day that it was nearly sunset. He made food, ate, and settled in to do some more reading before bed. He couldn’t find anything useful about resurrection without the library, and therefore without Alice, and he didn’t want to go that far until he had more concrete proof, but he could read the books he had just to distract himself.

 

Eliot read until his eyes burned, and finally he blew out all the candles and fell asleep.

 

That night, to Eliot’s surprise, Q was there in his dream again. This time, Eliot pulled back to look at his face, to run his hands over it. Q looked just like the last time Eliot had really seen him. His hair a little shorter, his face a little more tired, a little more stressed.

 

Things seemed a little fuzzy, though, around the edges. This wasn’t as clear as things had been back at the Mosaic cottage. Eliot tried to get rid of the blurriness, tried to pull Quentin closer, but suddenly sunlight broke through from somewhere, and the soft, still, dark space of the dream fractured. Eliot startled awake, back in his own bed, the letters still right within reach. He fumbled for them, still clumsy with sleep, and read through them again like they would answer his questions.

 

It was possible that it was time for outside help. Maybe. But maybe just Margo, for the time being.

 

He decided to go ahead and send her a message to get her to come back. He didn’t want to make anything seem pressing, so he tried to make it sort of a polite bunny message, but of course that apparently set off every warning alarm in Margo’s lovely head, and she came storming into the cabin like he’d told her Fillory was on fire.

 

“What the fuck is this?” she asked, holding up the bunny. “I thought you’d been kidnapped. Replaced by another fucking monster, I don’t know what.”

 

“Sorry, Bambi, it’s just - it’s a little urgent, I just need to show you something.”

 

“Show me what?”

 

He pulled out the letters and handed them to her, his hands practically not shaking at all. For the circumstances, he felt very well-adjusted.

 

“Are these-“

 

“Letters Q wrote in the other timeline. Like the one that made you dig up Jane Chatwin and singlehandedly stop myself and Q from dying horribly of old age - thank you again for that by the way.”

 

“And you just - found them?”

 

Eliot tilted his head. “Well. Not exactly, they have a tendency to pop into existence, kind of like bunnies.”

 

Margo frowned at him. “Eliot. Even if these are just popping in from somewhere, that doesn’t mean...”

 

“No, obviously, of course not. But I think I owe it to him to explore the possibility that they might be. I also keep dreaming about him, and, before you say it, I know it’s all very tragi-gay and it could just all be me, but the letters tend to respond to things.” Taking the letters back from Margo, he paged through them. “The one about not being able to do it, I literally said I didn’t think I could do it anymore. The one about Teddy getting hurt, I asked if he had anything that could help with my pain - but I don’t think it works here. Whatever makes them materialize, it only works at the Mosaic cottage, where he wrote them.” The worst part was, Eliot knew how crazy he sounded - but he had the letters, and Margo knew he wasn’t lying, at least. Maybe he was making meaning out of the random bullshit magic was always throwing at them, sure, but he wasn’t making it up.

 

Margo sighed, and clearly tried her best not to look at Eliot with pity. “Is there anything that could have caused this? Anything you’ve been doing?”

 

Shifting his gaze the the wall behind Margo, Eliot tried to think of a way to talk around her question or avoid answering. Then he remembered he was talking to Margo, and she’d know in a heartbeat. “If you’d like to keep taking it easy on me because I’m in mourning, I would appreciate it,” he mumbled as a kind of preface.

 

“Just spit it out, sweetheart.”

 

“Maybe I did a little dabbling in necromancy. But I don’t actually know anything, or have any books, so really it shouldn’t have worked. And he’s still not... all the way back or anything.”

 

“Well of course he didn’t spring back out of the ground, this isn’t Pet Semetary. Fuck. Okay. Is it possible you started something and left him halfway back somehow?”

 

“Frankly I don’t know enough about necromancy to know if that’s possible.”

 

“Well neither do I!” Eliot raised an eyebrow at Margo, and she sighed. “We need more than just us on this. We need library knowledge, and probably a shit ton of other knowledge, too. Okay. I’ll gather the troops, you keep sleeping and see what you can get out of freaky dream Quentin. Does that sound like a plan?”

 

Eliot nodded. “Right, well - on that note, the dreams aren’t as clear here. I’ll need to go back to the Mosaic, so you’ll need to find me there when you come back.”

 

“Find you at the magical puzzle from hell, got it.” She stood up, and turned to leave, then turned back around to face him. “El, while we’re at it... please stop trying on necromancy like it’s a silk tie.”

 

Surprised into it, Eliot chuckled. “Alright. Fair.” He stood slowly and pulled Margo into a hug. She barely put up a show of resisting before she hid her face in his chest and wrapped her arms tightly around him in turn.

 

“You know I love you. And you know how much I want you to get him back, because gods know that the both of you deserve a break from every piece of trash the universe has thrown your way but - try not to get your hopes up, okay? I don’t want this to make things worse if it isn’t him.”

 

“...I’ll try my best.”

 

She pulled away, and kissed him on the cheek, and she was gone again.

 

Eliot wasn’t going to tell her that his hopes were already up. If he fell in a mess of wax and fire, his very own Icarus myth played out all over again, it was no one’s fault but his own this time. He’d do what he could to shield everyone else from the consequences.

 

Left without Margo again, Eliot packed up some things and prepared to head back to the Mosaic cottage - but he realized it was a little late in the day to make it there before dark. He’d have to sleep one more time before he went back.

 

He dreaded the kind of fuzzy and intangible dream he’d have about Q again, but he knew it was inevitable.

 

This time it was like there was a thin layer of water or cellophane between the two of them. Q was there, and Eliot could see the shape of him, but touching him felt just a little bit wrong.

 

“Sort of awful how I always know these are dreams when they’re like this. Even my subconscious can’t forget long enough to let me enjoy it,” Eliot muttered.

 

“Eliot?”

 

Q’s voice sounded distant, almost like it was radio interference, but he sounded more lucid on the other end. Eliot blinked. “Uh, obviously, this is my dream.”

 

Q’s hands pressed forward, closer to Eliot, hovering over his waist and up over his back, and everything felt - strange. “Eliot, I’m not - I don’t really know what’s happening.”

 

“The dreams are fuzzier when I’m not close to the Mosaic, but I don’t - I didn’t even know you could talk to me like this-“

 

Then Q’s hands were on Eliot’s face, and Eliot could almost see Q’s eyes and something - something was definitely going on.

 

“I don’t think you’re just dreaming, Eliot. I think something else is going on. I’m not - I don’t remember enough right now, but maybe if you keep-“

 

Light fractured the dream again, just like last time, and Eliot woke with a start.

 

It was definitely time to get back to the Mosaic.


	2. when it counted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot puts his nose to the metaphorical dream grindstone and tries to get some actual answers out of Q. Things get complicated, and emotional.

The walk back to the cottage was long, and it _hurt_. There was nothing lovely or graceful or poetic about physical pain like Eliot felt, and it robbed him of all his thoughts and words. He should have been parsing out what Q said to him in his unfinished dream or figuring out his next point of attack for when he made it back, but instead his mind was filled just by _one foot, then the other, then the other_. He’d clearly been overdoing it.

 

Once it was within sight, the Mosaic seemed like an oasis in the desert, and Eliot went right to the bed inside the cottage and lay down.

 

He caught his breath with his eyes on the ceiling, and spoke once he felt that he could. “I think I earned some kind of reward for making it back and not just collapsing in the forest. So if you could spare a letter, that’d be great, Q.”

 

Fortunately, it landed on the bed, within reach, and Eliot picked it up.

 

_Eliot,_

 

_You smelled different in Fillory. Working on the mosaic, I mean. I don’t remember when I first noticed or had the thought, but one day I was still in bed, and you’d gone out to the mosaic, and I realized how attached I was to the smell left behind on your pillow. Then, in passing, I also realized that I still remembered the smell of your cologne. The smell from that half-drunken night in your bed. I missed it a little. It made me wish I’d been braver at Brakebills, pressed my face against your neck when you hugged me and just lingered. I didn’t know back then that the smell would just disappear one day, because you’d become a High King in Fillory and we’d hardly see each other, and then we’d get stuck here._

 

_I’m glad I was stuck here with you._

 

_I miss you._

 

Unobserved as he was, Eliot took just a moment to hold the letter to his chest, breathing in the words. His own memories of the Mosaic timeline were fuzzy. Q’s letters sparked things, but it felt simultaneously like something that had happened to him and something that had happened to someone else entirely. This, though... this felt like something his Q had thought about. Something intimate and real, something he’d never gotten to really have, because he fucked it all up. If this could work, if Eliot could figure out what was really happening and follow it all the way through, he could unfuck it - and he very thoroughly intended to.

 

Once he’d reread the letter, and caught his breath, Eliot stood back up and took a look at the books in the cottage. There was nothing incredibly useful, of course, but as Eliot looked through what was there, he was startled to find a copy of _The History of the Fillorian Throne_ that he distinctly remembered having Q read to him. That didn’t necessarily mean anything, but when Eliot flipped through, he found a note that they’d used as a bookmark. In particular, it was a little doodle of Teddy’s, and Eliot traced his fingers over the indentations from pencil on the paper in utter disbelief.

 

Time was absolutely fucked beyond all sense in Fillory. Time loops and tree clocks were but a small part of the bullshit they’d all had to deal with at this point. Ending up in the Fillorian future had been one thing, but this... This note meant that Eliot and Margo had ended up in Fillory’s future where the alternate timeline had actually happened. Quentin and Eliot had lived out their lives in this cabin, literally. Maybe that had something to do with Q’s presence and ability to communicate. Maybe something about all the time fuckery had built an effective bridge.

 

Eliot sat down, unable to take his eyes off the drawing. For a breathless moment he wondered if their son was still alive, before he remembered how long it had actually been. Still - he’d existed after all, even though the timeline was erased in their own, it had just existed somewhere else.

 

Paradoxes were a lot to deal with.

 

When Eliot finally closed the book, with the drawing inside, he realized the light had changed in the cabin. He started a fire, made some food, and settled in for the night.

 

It was strange to be so eager to go to sleep, especially when he didn’t know if how long he slept had anything to do with how long he had to talk to Q - still, now that he was back, he wanted to go back to his dreams. He wanted to be able to feel Q there, to talk to him again. He knew he needed to plan more, ask Q certain questions, but for now he just wanted that feeling back. The knowledge that Quentin was there, even just in his sleep. It was probably a dangerous line of thought, but Eliot couldn’t avoid it.

 

He lay in bed for a while, anxious about dreaming, before sleep finally crept up on him.

 

Q was there. Just like the other times. Eliot could feel him breathing, and he almost cried from the sheer relief of it.

 

“God, Q, I miss you so much.”

 

“Eliot,” he got back, and Eliot shivered just to hear it.

 

“Yeah, I’m here.”

 

Quentin looked up at him, and Eliot sighed, just brushing his thumb over Q’s cheek, taking in the moment.

 

“Do we have more time now? Since I’m actually in the right place this time?” Eliot asked.

 

Q shrugged. “It feels like it? But it’s hard for me to know. I don’t- things still aren’t clear. In my head. If that makes sense.”

 

“Well, the way all of this is happening, I think I’d be more surprised if you were making perfect sense, baby.” The pet name slips out, and Eliot fights a wince - even though Quentin doesn’t react at all. “Do you remember anything?”

 

“It’s funny, I... I remember what happened in Fillory. At the mosaic. I remember it so clearly, and even though I don’t remember much else, I feel like I... shouldn’t be able to remember it this well. Something feels off about the fact that I do. Like the wires got crossed somewhere.”

 

Eliot blinked. “Yeah, I’m starting to develop a theory about what’s going on, at least something like a half-theory, and I have no idea what to do with that.”

 

“Well that’s like, half of what we do anymore, that was all we ever did on the mosaic, just every single day trying whatever we could to figure it all out, and constantly getting it wrong. I think most of magic is just throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks, for us. There’s all this technical information and precise calculation, and maybe that works for people like Alice, but it never really works for me. Oh. Oh, Alice.”

 

The moment died a little, and Eliot carefully pulled back. “Alice?”

 

“I just sort of... didn’t realize I remembered her, I think. Oh God, is that terrible?”

 

“Well if it’s terrible I think it’s probably my fault. That seems like something you can blame on me.”

 

“I’m not gonna blame you, El, Jesus. Let’s... Can we not argue when we have limited time and I just... I just wanna be close to you while I can.”

 

Oh. “Oh.” Eliot wrapped his arms around Q again, and pulled him against his chest, his chin resting on Quentin’s head. “Yeah. That sounds good, let’s do that.”

 

“So whenever you wake up, it forces us out of this. And I can’t reach you when you’re awake. And you’re saying it depends on where you are.”

 

“I have to be in our old cottage. The one by the mosaic.”

 

“Right, I guess that makes at least a little sense,” Q replied.

 

Eliot hummed, and closed his eyes. He ran his fingers through Quentin’s hair, just because he could. It was strange - having Quentin back in his arms felt so right, like a sense memory, but he’d never done it that much in their actual timeline. Friendly affection was common enough, but it was like his body still remembered everything he’d never done. Even stranger, it had been so long that he’d been trapped in his own head and unable to touch that he felt like it should have been stranger to have it back - but it wasn’t.

 

Q tapped on his back, and Eliot made a questioning sort of sound in response.

 

“El, I think you’re probably gonna have to go soon. Was there anything you wanted to say? While you’re here?”

 

Eliot tightened his arms, just a little, resisting the very idea that Q would have to go again. “Not tonight, Q. Maybe tomorrow. You’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Okay.”

 

It felt like Quentin could sense how fragile Eliot was feeling, which made sense - they read each other like that now, ever since the quest for the time key - maybe even before. As a result, now, Q was being gentle with him. He pressed a kiss against Eliot’s neck, and just stayed there, soft and quiet in Eliot’s arms, until the dream faded quietly away, and Eliot woke up in bed, alone.

 

It took him a while to roust himself from the bed for breakfast, but when he finally did, he was glad no one was there to see his pathetically reddened eyes.

 

Eliot carefully made his food, tidied the cottage, swept the floor. He limped outside and gathered kindling. When he felt like he’d made it to the afternoon, he went out and sat on the mosaic, and looked up at the sky.

 

“Hey Q?” he asked, addressed to nothing in particular. “Do you have any letters to cheer me up?”

 

There was long moment where Eliot felt like his luck might have finally run out - and then a letter fluttered into his hands.

 

_Eliot,_

 

_I had a good day today - Teddy came for a visit. It’s the happiest I’ve been since you’ve been gone. At first I felt a little guilty, honestly, but I couldn’t possibly stay that way. He brought his wife, and they had another baby. We’re grandparents twice over, El. Isn’t it strange? Not to get dark, but I really never thought I’d live this long. But I did. You helped a lot, but so does this. I can’t run around like I used to, but I had some fun reading to the kids and telling them stories about Fillory before Teddy had to leave again. I still missed you, but mostly today it was just because I wish you’d been there to butt in on all my stories and to laugh with me. Today was good._

 

_I still miss you. I love you._

 

True to his request, the letter made Eliot smile. He brought it up to his lips and then looked around.

 

“I’m glad you had a good day. You didn’t need to feel guilty. I was always just happy to see you happy, with or without me. Little upset I missed out on the grandchildren, but I’ll live. We’ve got time.”

 

He didn’t know how much Q could hear - he really probably needed to address that tonight. After the one night he’d given himself just to take in Quentin’s company and have him close, he’d have to start being more productive now with their dream time. It was distressing, to have to spend any of that time not just soaking in the opportunity to be near Q again, especially when Eliot didn’t know what would happen once they got him back if he remembered everything - but he’d never get Quentin back at all if he kept wasting time.

 

After a long day, Eliot wrote down what he wanted to talk to Quentin about, and tried to memorize it. He wanted to make sure he didn’t forget anything - wanted to make sure he’d have something to contribute when Margo came back with everyone else in tow.

 

It took a long time to fall asleep when he was reciting all his questions in his head, over and over, but eventually he managed.

 

Once he was dreaming, Eliot pulled back from his embrace with Quentin almost immediately, as much as it pained him to do it. He placed his hands on either side of Q’s face, just to look him in the eye.

 

“Okay, I have questions tonight, I actually have a plan and I feel like you should be very impressed, hold your applause.”

 

Q smiled, and laughed, and Eliot felt almost like he forgot everything he’d been planning to say or do. “Okay. I can - I can try, El, what is it?”

 

After just the smallest, impossible to resist kiss his pressed to the corner of Q’s mouth, Eliot got down to business. “Right, first, do you know anything about the letters I’ve been getting?”

 

Quentin blinked at him, his eyes big and dark in the dream’s dim light. “You mean the ones I wrote you, you’re actually getting them? I keep trying to reach you and I can’t ever tell what’s getting through-“

 

It was more than Eliot had realized he could hope for. He smiled. “You’re doing it on purpose?”

 

“I mean, I’m trying, yeah.” Quentin closed his eyes for a moment and leaned forward to press his forehead against Eliot’s collarbone. “I don’t really know what’s happening, I don’t think I can explain it, like any of it, but if you’re getting letters, and if this is working, then. I must be doing something right.”

 

“The letters are the one you wrote in Fillory. The ones you wrote to me, after I... Well. You know.”

 

“Yeah.” Q pulled back this time, looking at Eliot’s face and checking it over, like he was the one trying to memorize Eliot - like Eliot was the one who might disappear. “I remember. I remember writing them, and I remember hoping you could see them or get them somehow but I don’t really know that I thought that would mean... this.”

 

“Well, magic is funny like that. By funny I mean it has an extremely twisted sense of humor, obviously.”

 

“Yeah. That one I know, too.”

 

They both looked at each other, just looked, for one long moment, and felt it together - all that magic had done, to them and for them.

 

Eliot still had more questions, though, so he was forced to be the one to break the silence. “You said you remember the mosaic timeline, so I’m... going to try and be delicate because I don’t know if I can fuck this up and fracture it. What’s the last thing you remember?”

 

Quentin frowned a little, in thought, and Eliot brushed a thumb between his brows, over the wrinkle that formed there.

 

“I- I remember dying. Of old age. I was in bed. I mean, I assume I died, I fell asleep and then everything is fuzzy from there, and this is - I mean we both died.”

 

God. Well. One theory confirmed. “You’re not old now, though.”

 

“No, neither are you, but I assumed... There’s something you’re not telling me.”

 

“I don’t know if I’m allowed, Q.”

 

Quentin scoffed. “Okay, well, fuck that, since when have you ever cared what’s allowed?”

 

Eliot smiled a little, just for a moment. “Well. Fair enough. I just - Margo stopped us from ever actually going into the clock for the key. But we remembered doing it, still. So it’s sort of like we completed the quest and then stumbled back out of Fillory afterwards. We lived that whole life and then - came back afterwards, still in our 20s.”

 

“Oh.” Q blinked at him. “Yeah that’s not - I don’t remember any of that.”

 

“Which means one of two things: either for you, none of that ever happened - which is a very real possibility in fucked up Fillory time - or alternatively, like you said, wires got crossed, and if I can get you back somehow, you’ll remember everything.”

 

“So when you say get me back... You’re. You’re not dead?”

 

“Not anymore, no, that’s why... that’s why everything is like this.”

 

Quentin smiled then, a real genuine smile, full of something close to wonder. He pushed Eliot’s hair back from his face, just to look at him. “We get to do it all again, then, huh? Give it another shot?”

 

It was impossible for this Q, in this moment, to know how much that felt like a knife twisting in Eliot’s chest - so Eliot tried to smile back. “I hope so.”

 

It looked like Q figured out something was wrong, but the dream faded away before he had time to ask. Even as Eliot woke up, blinking against the sunlight, he was just a little bit grateful.

 

It was a quiet day in the cottage. Eliot threw himself into cleaning and redecorating, and found that all the sleeping and lack of walking he’d been doing had left him with a little more strength - he’d probably been healing, too. He went out and found more food, gathered firewood, shuffled around some of the mosaic tiles for old time’s sake. By the time night fell, the cottage was spotless, Eliot had moved some of the furniture around to make the space a little more comfortable, and he was still sitting out by the fire, eating and drinking.

 

He was avoiding sleeping.

 

It was terrible, and he felt terrible for it, but the idea that this Q might not be his Q, that every piece of communication he’d had was from someone that was responding for completely different reasons - Eliot could hardly bear it. Of course, if he could have Q back at all, Eliot was glad he’d at least remember their life together in Fillory, but something felt wrong about it. It felt like cheating to be talking to a Q who barely remembered Alice because he hadn’t seen her in so long. To be talking to someone who hadn’t had to live with the monster, month after month, and to see and touch Eliot and know it wasn’t really him. He didn’t want to make Q relive all of that, of course, but something about this felt like Eliot was doing something wrong. Essentially, it felt like he wasn’t being punished enough. Like Q should be more afraid of him, like Q should be back together with Alice, like Eliot hadn’t earned him back yet.

 

The memory probably didn’t mean anything, though, if they still couldn’t get Quentin back at all. If even this Q could only be in Eliot’s dreams, could only be found in this cottage, then all of that guilt was pointless. Eliot could live the rest of his life here, and have Q in his dreams, a Q who was glad to have him back, and that would be all.

 

Either way, there wasn’t really any use in avoiding it any longer.

 

Exhausted, Eliot stumbled into the cottage and fell into bed.

 

This time, Quentin was the one who pulled back, and he shoved at Eliot’s chest a little.

 

“You can’t just obviously hide something from me and then wake up, El.”

 

“I mean, clearly I can, because I did, but I understand that was probably rude of me, I’m sorry I’m clearly untrained in dream etiquette.”

 

“Eliot.”

 

Eliot sighed, and kissed Quentin’s forehead. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. There’s just a lot I should probably tell you and I don’t want to because it’s going to ruin the mood.”

 

Q frowned. “Ruin the mood? Seriously?”

 

“Probably more like make you hate me, I think that’s actually what I meant, but when I say it out loud it sounds very overdramatic.”

 

“Probably because I could never hate you, El.”

 

Eliot laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it. “Mm. You say that now.”

 

“And I feel it, no matter what stupid bullshit you’re gonna try to tell me, okay? We’ve been through worse things than this. You know everything that we’ve been through, before and during the Mosaic.”

 

Pushing back Quentin’s hair, Eliot took a deep breath, and one last peaceful, lingering look at Q’s face before he risked ruining everything. “I guess there’s no chance you wanna start with the general plot developments, do you? The rest of the quest, updates on Julia and Alice and everyone else?”

 

“Not when I know you’re just putting off the one thing you don’t want to say, which for you always means it’s the one thing you really need to say.”

 

“As always, the mortifying ordeal of being known strikes again. Fine, Coldwater, have it your way.” Eliot tucked Quentin’s head under his chin, just so he wouldn’t have to watch his face, and Quentin was kind enough to stay there. “Okay, so, I told you Margo stopped us and we were back to before the whole thing with the Mosaic. We got back to Fillory, and we remembered, somehow, everything that happened, even though it didn’t happen. We were both still processing, and you... You’ve always been braver than me. And you suggested that we try being together in the real world, because it worked so well in the other timeline. You gave me this very beautiful speech, and you looked at me with all this hope in your eyes, and it scared the shit out of me. And I did the stupidest thing I ever did, in my entire life, and I turned you down. You told me you loved me, and you wanted to try, and I told you that you wouldn’t want that if you really had a choice. I think some part of me thought that was true, but mostly I was just scared I couldn’t do it right twice. I was scared I’d fuck up. So after that, I loved you, more than I could say, and I did some very stupid things because of it, but it was all my fault, because I told you we couldn’t be together, and then - one of the stupid things really, really got in the way, and I couldn’t take it back.”

 

Quentin pulled back slowly, like he was trying not to startle Eliot, which was sweet under the circumstances. Then he pulled Eliot closer again, and kissed his forehead, and held him. “Did you forget you’re talking to the guy who kissed you and then got “let’s save our overthinking for the puzzle”? El, come on. I’m not - I’m sure it hurt, in the moment. But I know you. I know you do that, I’ve known it for a long time. You being you isn’t gonna make me hate you. Piss me off, maybe, sure, but I’m never gonna hate you.”

 

In a ridiculously embarrassing turn of events, Eliot started crying. It was strange all over again to be comforted by someone who didn’t remember what happened - and at the same time, to have Q’s voice tell him it was okay, to have Q’s arms around him again - it meant everything. Eliot wrapped his arms around Q, and just stayed there, grateful.

 

“I don’t really have any more questions yet. Especially not after that. I hope if you come back and you do remember everything, you’ll still feel the same way. I promised myself I’d tell you if I got you back.”

 

“Well, mission accomplished then, yeah? I’m right here.”

 

And for that moment, Q was right. That was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is possible that there may end up being four chapters of this fic? i'm not sure yet. but either way, i hope you're enjoying it so far! feel free to let me know.


	3. so much discounted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot struggles with the real possibility of Quentin not remembering, and everyone else takes real steps toward getting Q back.

In the morning, he woke up to bunnies.

 

“Heading back with everyone.”

 

“Get your shit together.”

 

Eliot laughed, only slightly manic after the night he’d had. He knew something now, sort of, and he could report back to everyone with what he’d learned.

 

The cottage was as clean as it was going to get, and Eliot could only do a certain amount of personal grooming in Fillory when he wasn’t in the castle. He cleaned himself up as best he could, and he started cooking so that he could greet “everyone” with food.

 

It turned out that in this case, “everyone” consisted ofMargo (obviously), Julia, Alice, Kady, and Penny 23.

 

“Should we start with small talk or are we jumping right in?” Eliot asked.

 

“I mean, I kind of want to start with food,” 23 replied, and Eliot was grateful for a request that wasn’t directly Quentin-related. The girls seemed a little exasperated, but Eliot handed 23 a bowl of the sort-of-stew he’d made with a smile.

 

“Anyone else?” Eliot prodded.

 

It didn’t really work.

 

Julia was the first one to speak up. “Have you talked to him?”

 

“Well. Dream Quentin, yes, but I don’t know if he’s... our Quentin. He says he doesn’t remember anything after the time key quest, when he and I solved the Mosaic.”

 

“You solved the Mosaic?” Julia asked, and Eliot sighed.

 

“Not exactly. It’s a little more complicated than that. That was the quest that got us the time key, but technically we never did it - it only happened in an alternate timeline. Margo stopped us before we ever got into Fillory, because in the alternate timeline, we got sent back into the past and we got stuck there... until we died of old age.” Margo, seated next to him, took his hand, then, and held it in her lap. He was grateful. She knew most of that story - she’d read the letter after all. “The thing is that Q and I remembered it when we got back. So. We did it and... we didn’t.”

 

Julia seemed a little startled. “He never told me that.”

 

“I think we were all a little busy,” Margo interjected. It was funny, to hear her sticking up for Quentin again. Eliot was unbelievably grateful for it.

 

Alice seemed to consider everything for a moment - she was surprisingly calm. “So it’s possible the Quentin you’re talking to is from the timeline that got cut off - where he grew old in Fillory.”

 

Eliot, not sure how much she knew and not really willing to find out, just nodded. “That’s my working theory. But I think it’s also possible that things got a little... tangled. There are at least 40 Quentins, and possibly more, in the Underworld at this point. If we can bring him back, it might all sort of realign itself, because he might adjust to the timeline, or... we could bring the wrong one back anyways. I don’t think this process has any guarantees.”

 

“That sounds right based on what they said when Q and I went to the Underworld, they made it sound like we’d already been there, and I don’t really know how any of that works. I don’t think the time loop brought us back to life, strictly speaking, because we don’t remember.”

 

Everyone sort of nodded, and no one really knew what else to say, for a moment.

 

“We’ve got to get him back,” Alice said.

 

Julia nodded, quickly. “Agreed. Eliot - I think it’s a good thing this happened. Whatever it is, I think you were just doing what we were all thinking. We’re gonna get him back.”

 

Margo leaned her head on his shoulder, then, and he squeezed her hand.

 

He looked around at each of them. “Alice, Kady, do you know anything yet? Did you find anything in the library?”

 

“Well obviously a lot of that stuff is considered off-limits, but that also obviously doesn’t really matter anymore,” Alice started.

 

Kady nodded and picked up where she left off. “Right. So we did some digging and there’s some definite stuff on resurrection. We brought a couple of books that you can look through, and you can see if you know what you might have done to trigger this, if anything. We also think there are a couple of pretty strong candidates for real spells to get him back.”

 

“A lot of it is going to depend on him, though,” Alice added.

 

Everything they said made sense. Eliot would need to figure out what was happening by figuring out what he’d accidentally started. Then, any spell to get Quentin back would probably require his cooperation. He’d need to want to come back. They could all only hope that he did.

 

“I’ll look through these and keep talking to dream Q. Obviously I have some selfish motivations for making this work, but... I’m not making any assumptions about what’ll happen if we do get him back.” Eliot made a point of looking at Alice as he finished speaking, and she nodded at him. Somehow, in all that had happened, they’d come to a kind of unspoken understanding. They’d both loved Quentin, and he’d loved both of them, and neither of them could know what might have happened if he’d made it out of The Seam. They needed him back for that. “Is everyone staying for a bit or should I just send a bunny when I find anything?”

 

Margo turned towards Eliot and brushed his curls back, away from his face. “Do you want any of us to stay? Will it help at all?”

 

Eliot looked back at the cabin, and then around at everyone. Then, he shook his head. “No. No, you’d just be wasting time and waiting around while I read and sleep too much.” He turned to look at Margo, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be okay, Bambi. Really.”

 

“Alright then, you heard the man, let’s get the fuck out,” Margo said, and she started shooing everyone away, rolling her eyes as she took 23’s bowl away and handed it back to Eliot. “If you do need anything,” she murmured back at him.

 

“You’ll be the first to know.”

 

Once everyone had gone, Eliot took the books inside, and lit all the candles. The stack of books was fairly small, probably only six or seven at maximum, but Eliot knew looking through them carefully was going to take him a while. It was certainly a way to fill time, though, and a way to put off going back to sleep.

 

While the previous night’s dream had been cathartic at the time, now in retrospect it was overwhelming. This Q, who may or may not have any overlap with the Q who was gone and who they were trying to bring back, knew one of Eliot’s deepest secrets now, all because Eliot had been too distraught to keep his mouth shut. And if he did get to sleep tonight finally, and he spoke to dream Quentin again, then what? He was supposed to give updates on friends that Q didn’t even remember? He was supposed to relive more of his own regrets? He was supposed to take comfort in some alternate version of his once upon a time boyfriend? Well fuck that - at least for now, and at least a little bit.

 

Talking to everyone, to Alice and Julia especially, had left the sickly wash of guilt over any joy Eliot got out of talking to _his Q_ from the alternate timeline. In some ways, now, he realized he’d been right in the throne room - or at least he was right in retrospect. Those people were them, but they also weren’t. That had never been Quentin’s point, though, and it hadn’t been Eliot’s, either. Quentin had fumbled through what he was trying to say, and Eliot had tried to catch him in a technicality just to effectively refuse. The easiest way to lie, in the end, was just to tell a different version of the truth.

 

The first book that Eliot skimmed his way through didn’t sound promising. Most of it was in Gaelic, and Eliot wasn’t without his knowledge of obscure languages, but he hadn’t been just randomly murmuring in Gaelic anytime recently. The second was a more general text with some useful overall knowledge - it contained a couple of spells that Eliot assumed were the top contenders for actually bringing Q back, but it was too complex for anything Eliot would have done on accident and considering his almost complete lack of prior knowledge. There were a couple more which were completely useless, one in Latin and one which was clearly Egyptian.

 

Then, finally, Eliot felt he’d found something. It was, essentially, something like a Necromancy For Dummies. It was, in fact, called “New to Necromancy: A Beginner’s Guide to Grief Magic.” It felt a little on the nose, but Eliot had far stranger experiences under his belt by this point.

 

Any of the spells seemed doable, many of them only required a single person, and he was only about a quarter of a way through the book when he found the section on “Dream Bridging.”

 

Apparently all it took was some simple Popper-based handwork and a desperate desire to create a bridge of communication with anyone in the Underworld - as long as that person was also trying to reach you. Essentially, some version of Q had been calling a metaphorical payphone and Eliot had managed to pick up on accident.

 

Unfortunately, this didn’t mean that the work was already halfway done, and it didn’t clear up any of the confusion on which Q he was talking to. It did mean, though, that this Q wasn’t just ready to lay down and accept death, and that was something.

 

He sent bunnies to Margo just to say “Figured something out. Come back tomorrow,” and then he had nothing left to distract him from the bed.

 

The moon was high in the sky through the window, and Eliot watched the typical Fillorian haze drift through the moonlit breeze for quite some time before he accidentally fell into sleep.

 

Probably because of Eliot’s mental state, when he found himself in the dream space with Q, they weren’t wrapped up together in bed. Q was sitting up, and so was he. There was room between them, and the gap felt reinforced with Eliot’s guilt and confusion.

 

“So, hi.”

 

“It seemed like you were awake for a long time today, El.”

 

Eliot shrugged. “Well, everyone came by - uh, Margo, Julia, Alice, you know, and they gave me books to look through so we can work on getting you back. It was practically like being back at Brakebills - except if I’d actually had to try and study. Sort of like you, at Brakebills.”

 

Quentin snorted and immediately elbowed Eliot, then leaned against him, completely disregarding the space between them. The cavalier affection was more normal than whatever distance Eliot had been trying to manufacture, so Eliot barely managed to hesitate before he leaned his head on top of Q’s.

 

“Everyone wants you back. Do you still want to come back?”

 

“Of course, we talked about this,” Quentin replied, pulling back a little. He was trying to make eye contact, and he took Eliot’s hand just to keep touching him.

 

Eliot looked down at their hands just to avoid the forced eye contact. “I know you said that you’re interested in doing it all over again, I just feel like I should keep checking and it’s still - I mean you have to realize it’s mildly disconcerting for me to not be sure if you’re from the right timeline.”

 

“The right timeline?” Quentin pulled his hand back, and actually seemed to bristle a little. “You said you remembered everything in Fillory, there was just stuff that happened after that, but what does that matter? What could it even really be?”

 

Breath catching in his throat, guilt threatening to choke him, Eliot finally looked at Q. “Some truly awful shit, Q. The kind of stuff that I’m never going to be able to tell you, not just because I wasn’t even conscious for most of it. The kind of stuff that could really fuck all of this over. I was wrong when I told you no after Fillory, but maybe it’s better we weren’t together when all of this happened, because I still probably would have done the same stupid thing, and you would have paid a pretty big price for it - one that probably would have been worse if we weren’t just... Whatever we were.”

 

Quentin shook his head. “Eliot, what the fuck? I told you I don’t remember, and you talking around it doesn’t suddenly make that not true. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I- I told you I don’t wanna fight when we’re like this, when we barely have the time to talk to each other.”

 

“Well maybe I do want to fight! Maybe you shouldn’t just be happy to see me, because you certainly fucking wouldn’t be if you knew.”

 

“Why does that matter right now, El?”

 

“Because I don’t deserve this!” The words burst from his chest without any real thought, and it was as if they hung in the air, lingering in the dim space around them. Unfortunately, honesty had prevailed.

 

Q was looking at him with that miserable, big-eyed look he got sometimes. The one where Eliot could practically see how he’d broken his heart, again. “El,” Quentin started, and Eliot squeezed his eyes shut.

 

“Don’t.” In the lucid space of the dream, he thought maybe if he just pushed himself hard enough, he could wake up, before Quentin could say anything else, before he would have to open his eyes again and see that look, before Q could offer him more comfort that he hadn’t earned.

 

When he did open his eyes, the sun was peeking over the horizon, and Q was gone.

 

He must not have slept more than a few hours. If he were sensible, or braver, the way he promised himself he’d be, maybe he could have gotten some more sleep. He could have apologized to Dream Quentin, relaxed in his embrace, and really gotten ready to face the day, which would probably involve some serious discussions and possibly spellcasting while they started trying in earnest to get Quentin back.

 

Instead, Eliot just made some food, walked into a village to trade one of the books left in the cottage for some shit Fillorian alcohol, and started drinking before it had even hit noon.

 

Margo, Alice, Julia, Kady, and Penny 23 all arrived while Eliot was still only tipsy at worst. He gave them a wave, and they all joined him in sitting in or around the Mosaic. Fortunately, Margo only gave him one mildly skeptical glare before Julia spoke.

 

“So what did you figure out?”

 

“Well, essentially I’ve conjured some kind of dream magic that makes a connection between myself and the Underworld - specifically Quentin, and specifically a Quentin that was trying to reach out to me. It wouldn’t have worked if he wasn’t. So that solves the problem of him wanting to come back, which beyond just being spectacular also means that any of the spells you all were interested in should be effective.” Eliot took the stack of books and nudged them in Alice’s general direction. “So, basically, godspeed to the magically talented among us.”

 

With that, he flopped onto his back and closed his eyes, and he could practically feel Margo glaring at him. She took the reigns of the conversation without even forcing him to ask her to. She was always good that way. “Right. Alice, can we get any of these spells into action today?”

 

“Probably not. They’re mostly cooperative, and they’ll require practice. We also probably need at least one of Quentin’s possessions, or something connected to him to summon him, and we should try and use something from our timeline specifically - if we use the letters, we definitely risk ending up with the wrong Quentin.”

 

“So at least for now we should probably regroup, get the books back to the library except for the one we need, and take the time to get everything ready. Then, tomorrow or in a couple of days, when we’re ready, we can plan to actually perform the spell,” Julia added.

 

Alice and Kady nodded, and Margo nodded back at them.

 

“Sounds peachy. You all head back, then - I’m going to keep an eye on this one for a little bit.”

 

Eliot heard everyone else leave, and he felt Margo pulling him to sit up. “Alright, time to explain your bullshit. You’re drunk when it’s barely the afternoon, which you haven’t done in a long fucking time, and you clearly do not have your head in the game.”

 

He opened his eyes, just to really look at her, and the clear thread of concern in her gaze pushed him over the edge immediately. He flopped over again, this time with his head in her lap, and he sighed. “Dream Q and I fought, so I forced myself to wake up, and I barely got any sleep. He said last night he wants to come back, but that was before I possibly ruined it and therefore, ruined all of our work, with my own sheer ability to fuck up nearly any situation involving genuine feelings.”

 

“El,” Margo said softly, and Eliot was so, so tired of her being gentle with him. Not because it wasn’t good of her, or because it didn’t speak to their growth together that they could be vulnerable with each other now, but mostly because it felt like it was happening every time they saw each other now, and Eliot wanted to stop making her so fucking sad.

 

“I know, Bambi. You can spare me the pity party, I threw a lovely one by myself this morning, please feel free to just smack sense into me and leave again.”

 

She did smack him gently on the back of the head - Eliot appreciated the effort. “What you need to do is go back to bed and sleep it off. Come on.”

 

Margo yanked him up, and he let her. She couldn’t carry the brunt of his weight, but he leaned against her as he stumbled back into the cottage and practically tripped into bed. After lying on the warm tile of the Mosaic for so long, the bed felt genuinely luxurious in comparison, and Eliot groaned as he tried to resist sleep. “Will you stay?” he asked Margo.

 

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” she promised, and with that he was gone.

 

“You have some shitty timing with waking up, El,” Q said immediately.

 

Eliot blinked, clearing his vision, and he found Q sitting in a chair by the bed, the angles of his face hidden in shadow. “Sorry,” he croaked out.

 

“For waking up?”

 

“For all of it.”

 

Quentin hummed, and Eliot just watched him. He could reach out now and see if Quentin would reject him or not, but he could just as easily keep his arms tucked against his chest.

 

“Everyone’s working on the spell to get you back. I told them all what I figured out - what we figured out, really, and they’re taking a day or two to gather what they need and to practice. It’s collaborative, apparently.”

 

“So you do still want me to come back,” Quentin replied. It was slow, and almost speculative, but it was like he dropped something heavy directly on Eliot’s chest.

 

Eliot sat up finally, and leaned closer to look at Q. “You can’t mean that. That’s obvious, Q.”

 

“So say it.”

 

“I want you back. Of course I want you back. We had a fight in a dream and I started drinking again before it was even noon. I know I deserve some punishment here, but you don’t have to just make shit up.”

 

Quentin’s gaze softened a little, and he came over to sit on the bed. “I’m not trying to make shit up, El, I just - every time you backpedal like that, my brain does that thing. It jumps to the worst possible fucking conclusion, because that’s how I am, and you should know that by now.”

 

Weakened in the face of Quentin’s vulnerability, Eliot reached out and pulled him into a hug. They held each other for a long, long moment. “I’m sorry, Q. I’m sorry I’m an idiot. I’ll make it up to you once we get you back, I promise.”

 

“Yeah, you’d better,” Q said back, but there was a smile in his voice then, and that was all Eliot really needed to know he hadn’t ruined their chances beyond repair.

 

When they both pulled back from the embrace, Eliot lay down, and Q went with him, so they were side by side on the bed again.

 

“You look tired,” Q said softly.

 

Eliot chuckled. “I’m literally asleep, thank you. I will admit I didn’t get enough sleep last night and I drank this morning, so I’m not exactly in peak shape at the moment.”

 

“Let’s just rest, then.”

 

Q pulled him close, and Eliot hummed and didn’t resist. His arm ended up wrapped around Quentin’s waist, his head resting on top of Q’s, just like always. “I miss this out there. It’s been easier lately when I fall asleep and you’re here, but I could barely sleep before Margo and I came back to Fillory. Even when I first got here, I had to wear myself out every day.”

 

He felt Q press a kiss against his collarbone, and he shivered. “It won’t be too long before they figure out the spell. I may not remember much, but I do remember how smart they all were. Alice and Julia especially. All the stuff we all managed working together - getting me back is probably the smallest scale thing we’ve done, comparatively.”

 

Eliot laughed, this time really laughed. “You might be right. But - it still might be the most important.”

 

Quentin scoffed, but Eliot let him - he’d let Julia and Margo and everyone else scold Q once he was back for ever thinking otherwise. For the moment, he just kissed the top of Quentin’s head, and stayed quiet.

 

Eventually, he woke up, and he found Margo still there, reading. He smiled at her. “Well, hello, Bambi. You didn’t really have to stay.”

 

Margo looked happy to see him up for a moment, and then she rolled her eyes. “Mostly I was trying to make sure you actually got some sleep. But you look a little less like rewarmed death now, so we’ll call it a win.” She walked over to the bed and kissed him on the forehead. “Now, though, you’re right, I can’t stay. I have to get back to my own shit - getting Q back is first priority, but you both owe me so much help getting Fillory back after how hard I’ve sidelined my shit to help you.”

 

“Of course, High King Margo, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

 

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said with a smile, and then she kissed him one more time, and she was off.

 

He didn’t know how long it would be until everyone gathered their supplies and practiced and came back with the spell. He needed to keep his mind off of things by actually doing something, but the only thing he’d really been tasked with for the moment was waiting. The cottage was basically clean, but Eliot swept it again for good measure. He made food, and ate. Still, it was barely dusk, and Eliot wasn’t going to be tired any time soon after the nap he’d taken to fix things with Q.

 

Out of ideas, he went out to the Mosaic. He started stacking up tiles, thinking of different designs he might be able to plan out just to have something to do - and to at least make the Mosaic something that was aesthetically appropriate to greet everyone when they got back.

 

While he was planning, he thought of Q’s old notebook, and his math, and Eliot missed him, desperately.

 

“Hey, Q - you haven’t given me a letter in a while. Still have any of those laying around?”

 

Almost instantly, one fluttered down, and Eliot sighed with relief as he picked it up.

 

_Eliot,_

_I ran out of things to do today, so I decided to plot out a mural on the Mosaic. I wanted to make something I thought you would have appreciated. Something pretty, just for the sake of it. The solution for the Mosaic wasn’t a design, really, so it was left basically empty after I solved it. Leaving it empty forever just seemed wrong._

_It took me a long time to design it, because obviously colors are still limited, but I settled on a pattern I think I remembered from one of your ties. I might have gotten it wrong, but it’s the thought that counts, right?_

_I still miss you. It’s hard to work on this alone, but it’s the easier way to fill my days lately - at least until I can’t manage it anymore. I love you._

 

Eliot brushed his fingers over the writing and sighed. It gave him a pretty good idea for the Mosaic, at least - silly as it was, he thought Q would appreciate it. He only managed to lay out a border before it got too dark to work, and he had to retreat to the cabin. He tucked the letter with the others, and sat down with some paper to make sure he had an effective pattern for what he wanted to do.

 

He worked until he got tired, and then he went back to sleep.

 

For better or worse, he and Q were both quiet that night. Eliot didn’t want to bring anything up again that might end in a fight, and Quentin seemed perfectly happy just to have the physical contact and nothing more. There was a lot still unsettled between them in Eliot’s mind, but it was something he could only settle with a Q who remembered. Playing out those conversations with this Q, with dream Q, only felt hollow.

 

Still, when Eliot woke in the morning he was well-rested, and it gave him the strength and presence of mind to keep working on the Mosaic.

 

When he finished, shortly after sunset, the design ended up resembling what Eliot was fairly sure was the cover of the first edition of the first Fillory book. Their relationship with Fillory and the books was complicated now, obviously, but he still thought it would have made Quentin smile.

 

He could have asked for another letter, but he was starting to feel like they’d served their purpose. They’d let him know that Quentin was alive, somehow, somewhere, and they’d pushed him through to the other side of the worst of his grief, just enough that he could fight to get Q back. Any more, and he risked lingering on the Mosaic timeline, and he knew now that he couldn’t just let himself have that anymore.

 

After another restful night curled up with dream Quentin, and another breakfast in Fillory, Penny 23 showed up at the cottage door.

 

“They’re ready,” he said. “Everyone feels like if we do it here we’ll end up making things worse. We’re gonna try first out there, and come here if it doesn’t work.”

 

It made logical sense. Eliot took his cane and stepped carefully out of the cottage, giving it what felt like a last look. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah it's gonna be four chapters i seriously underestimated how big this thing would be lkajsd but! i hope everyone's still enjoying it!


	4. when i'm reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After so much - they get Quentin back after all.

****

Everything felt strangely methodical once Eliot and 23 arrived at Kady’s apartment. There were no more conversations necessary, really. They knew what they were doing, and why they were doing it, they all just had to do it and hope it would work.

 

Margo gave him a hug as soon as he got there, of course, but everything after that was all business. Alice and Julia were practicing the motions of the tutting, and they walked Eliot through it, carefully correcting his hand posture. Once it seemed like they all knew what they were doing, they all nodded around at each other and got to it.

 

Alice and Kady handled the chanting, Julia had found some of Quentin’s things, which were placed conveniently in the middle of the circle, and Eliot, Margo, and 23 were clearly all just there to help. Collaborative spell, a collaborative success. Hopefully.

 

The chanting, though, took a lot of time, and it was at least an hour, and felt like a year before any of them paused. Eliot’s hands were starting to cramp, but he kept his focus on Quentin’s jacket, one of the items lying on the ground in the center. It looked a little like the one Q had worn into Fillory, once upon a time. Maybe it wasn’t, it didn’t really matter, but it gave Eliot something to think about while they all stood there, just chanting and tutting and hoping.

 

Eventually, they came to the end of the spell. They stopped.

 

Nothing was happening. For long enough that all of them got a little nervous, nothing continued to be happen.

 

Then some kind of portal opened in the center of the circle, and Quentin’s jacket, that Eliot had been so diligently staring at, suddenly gained form and substance, and Quentin was there, inside the jacket.

 

Julia was right beside him immediately, and Alice was crying, and everything was loud and busy and probably even more stressful for Q. Eliot wanted so badly to go over and pull Quentin to standing check every part of him for injury - but everyone else was already there, and he had no idea what Quentin remembered, if anything.

 

So instead, Eliot ran.

 

He ran straight to his semi-designated bedroom and closed the door and sat on the bed, and watched his own hands shake.

 

His own words mocked him from the back of his mind. He was supposed to be braver now, and he was supposed to be better at this - but instead, here he is alone when he should be out there. He could lie and say that it was just because he knew Q was getting overwhelmed with everyone on him at once, but while that was true, there were other solutions. Coming in here to hide was more selfish and more complicated than that, and Eliot knew it.

 

It was longer than he would have expected it to be before somebody came to get him. A long time, actually. Noise came and went in the other room, and Eliot stayed strangely glued to the bed where he sat.

 

“El, what the fuck?”

 

Eliot winced as Margo burst into the room, closing the door behind her. “Nice to see you, too, Bambi.”

 

“Don’t give me that. You put in all this time and work to get Quentin back, and now you’re just gonna hide in here? Not on my watch.”

 

It was impossible to look at Margo when she was like this, beautiful as ever and practically shimmering with fury. Instead, Eliot pushed his gaze to anything else he could, every part of the room, anything that might distract him. “Does he remember?” he asked, finally.

 

Margo scoffed. “Well I’m definitely not going to tell you. You’re going to have to pussy the fuck up and ask him yourself. Because this - this isn’t getting you anywhere, and you know it.”

 

It hurt a little to have Margo be so forceful with him, but he deserved it. He looked up at her, opened his mouth, and then just closed it again, shaking his head. There was nothing he could say, or articulate. There was nothing that was going to make this better - it wasn’t just that he was scared. He was terrified, frankly. At that moment, Q might have remembered or he might not. It was like Schrödinger’s soulmate. Q might have been in there, still desperately in love with Eliot, willing to try for another 50 years, or he might have hated him, angry and upset and unable to recover from the time spent with the monster. He might have decided to be with Alice now, or he might not have. If Eliot never went out, he never had to know - he could stay here with the letters, and hope the dreams might just come back anyways, and he never had to hear the no that might come. All his big plans of bravery had vanished once Q was really standing there again, surrounded by everyone else. He’d already told Q how he felt - but now what if he had to do it again? What if this time wasn’t the same? It couldn’t be.

 

“El, he keeps asking to see you. And I’m running out of ways to not say ‘Sorry, he’s busy being scared shitless.’ Just get off your ass and talk to him. Whatever happens, you’ve got me, and you’ve got him. He’s not gonna hate you. He’s still Q.”

 

Slowly, Eliot stood up and made his way to the door. Margo stepped aside to let him peek out. “You promise we can get spectacularly drunk if I need to?” he asked her.

 

Margo smiled a little, clearly glad to have some semblance of him back. “Obviously, dipshit.”

 

Eliot hugged her tightly, briefly. “Thank you for the kick in the ass, Bambi. I’ll see you on the other side.”

 

And with that, he went out to face Q.

 

When Eliot got to the sitting room, Quentin was wrapped in a blanket and sitting on the couch,talking to Alice. Eliot had the advantage of being out of sight, just for a moment. He watched Q talking, and he seemed - well. Alive, for one. But beyond that, he didn’t seem angry or closed off. Just a little sad. If nothing else, it seemed like Margo was probably right. This was Quentin - and Quentin was never going to hate him.

 

Eliot took another step forward and Alice caught sight of him. She gave him a sort of half-smile, to Eliot’s complete surprise, and after she kissed Quentin on the cheek and stood up, she walked right by Eliot and patted him gently on the arm.

 

And then, clearly by design, they were alone.

 

Quentin was just sort of staring at him at that point, so Eliot limped slowly in his direction.

 

“So, hi,” he started, genuinely nervous and trying desperately to hide it.

 

“Eliot. Hey.” Before Eliot could even try to begin to formulate anything he really wanted to say, Quentin was standing up, dropping the blanket, and crossing the room to get to him, and pulling him into a hug. Eliot sagged into it, immediately, resting his chin on Q’s head, wrapping arms around his shoulders. After a few long moments, he felt one extremely half-hearted smack to his chest. “Hey here’s an idea, please don’t ever get possessed again.”

 

The words were muffled still, pressed against Eliot’s neck, and Eliot laughed - only it sounded a little more like a sob. “Yeah, okay, I think I can get behind that one.”

 

Quentin pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought you were dead.”

 

A little bit of anger rose up in Eliot at that, but he pushed it down, leaning forward to press his forehead against Q’s instead. “So did I, for a little bit. And then I thought you were, so let’s just - how about I never get possessed again, and you never do that again. Never. Okay?”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Quentin said softly.

 

Eliot pulled back again, adjusting his posture a little, and he stepped back from the hug, as much as he hated to do it. “Here. Let’s sit down and at least pretend this is a normal conversation.”

 

Quentin nodded, and took his seat on the couch again, pulling his feet up onto the seat as well so he could wrap his arms around his knees.

 

Eliot sat down next to him. “Okay, so, clearly you remember everything, that’s great. Good starting point. How are things with everyone else?”

 

“Uh, well. Julia’s pretty mad at me. She said that I’m essentially getting a stern talking to over coffee sometime soon. Kady threatened me with actual bodily harm. 23 said he was glad to have me back, which maybe weirder than either of those things. Margo was also angry, obviously, and Alice was... surprisingly okay? But she says she’s taking over the library and that she and I should stick to being friends after all of this, which I think is, uh, fair to say.” Quentin didn’t make eye contact as he said any of this, but something almost like a smile crept through once or twice. “You’re not yelling at me, so I’m feeling pretty good about that so far.”

 

“I figured Julia and Margo had that one in hand.”

 

Quentin finally looked at him, then, and smiled a little. “I think you’re right, yeah.” He paused for a moment and his brow furrowed. “You said I remembered everything like you... thought I wouldn’t. Was that in the spell or something?”

 

Eliot shook his head. “Not exactly. Just-” How much of the truth to tell? “There are different versions of all of us in the Underworld, I think we were all a little worried maybe we’d get one that wasn’t you.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Quentin seemed to be processing something, and his brow stayed furrowed.

 

Eliot looked at his face, the expression so similar to when Q used to get frustrated by something on the Mosaic, and suddenly he couldn’t keep talking around it - but he couldn’t look Q in the eye while he explained, either. “I was in Fillory when all of this started. Margo and I went back to try and get her kingdom back, and we ended up 300 years in the Fillorian future, and while she was busy... I went to the cottage, by the Mosaic. I started getting letters and these... dreams. I think maybe it was the version of you from the Mosaic timeline, and we weren’t sure if we’d end up with you or that version of you. We did everything here to specifically avoid that, and it seems like it worked. So. Yay.”

 

“You were in the cottage? In Fillory?”

 

It was obvious that Quentin was trying to work something out, and Eliot was just as confused as he was, if not more so. As a result, he just nodded in response.

 

“So that was... When I was in the Underworld, when I went through the door... I ended up at the cottage. I don’t remember everything, it’s a little blurry, but that was - that was you? Like actual you?”

 

“Maybe?” Eliot’s voice caught, embarrassingly. “How much do you remember?”

 

It took a moment, just one moment, but then Q’s expression switched from confusion to something soft, and beautiful and _wondrous_. “El - that was all real? That was you?”

 

Eliot nodded again.

 

“When I was down there I got to choose where I went, I chose the cottage, I thought it would be the best place, but it meant that I didn’t remember anything while I was there, that was what was going on, but everything you said, all of that - did you mean it?”

 

“God, of course I meant it, Q-”

 

They both leaned in at once, and they came crashing together in the center, the kiss off-center and more than a little bit messy, but so much better than anything in the dreams or from Eliot’s memories. This was real, and present. This was Quentin’s stubble rough against Eliot’s lips and the soft, worn fabric of Quentin’s hoodie under his hands and Q’s mouth slightly damp in the lamp light once Eliot pulled back, and away.

 

“I know I said I’d be brave but I was absolutely terrified I was going to have to do all of that over again and I had no confidence whatsoever that I was going to be capable of saying it twice,” Eliot confessed quietly.

 

Quentin laughed, and he nudged his forehead against Eliot’s, then bumped his nose gently against Eliot’s temple, almost nuzzling there. “Yeah, well, I guess it’s a good thing I remember. Would have hated to ruin your dramatic confession.”

 

“Alright, Coldwater, I’ve seen your love letters now. You’re a sap and I know you’re a sap, and I have arguably just completed a sequence of grand romantic gestures, accidentally communicating with you through the power of love and helping bring you back to life. You have no leg to stand on here.”

 

Q pressed closer and kissed him again, but they were both laughing and smiling into it. It should have been a terrible kiss, but instead there was a sheer delight in being happy again, and in feeling Q happy again after so long, Eliot would have given up every other kiss they’d ever had just for this one. But then, Eliot also wouldn’t ever have to give up any more kisses with Quentin ever again.

 

“You’re such a dick sometimes,” Quentin murmured.

 

“Mmm, but again, I just did an entire epic quest for you.”

 

They separated long enough that Q pulled back and readjusted, just so he could curl up against Eliot and rest his head against Eliot’s chest. “Fine, I’ll agree to a 24-hour moratorium on calling you a dick. That’s my only offer.”

 

“As long as it also comes with your undying love.”

 

It was only half a joke, and they both knew they were treading new ground again - delicate from disuse. Quentin looked up at him, considering, and smiled. “Yeah. I think I can maybe settle for that condition.”

 

“Right. Good.”

 

The other words, and the technicalities, those would come later. Their road together had never been without its bumps, but things felt settled again. Quentin was alive, and he remembered, and he loved Eliot still, and he said so. Eliot would have a lot to work through, but they’d do it together, again. Maybe they’d go back to Fillory, maybe they’d get pulled in some other direction by some other fucked up ridiculous magical problem - but wherever they went, they’d go together.

 

Quentin’s breathing was starting to slow, and Eliot could feel the motion of his lungs against him. If he tried, Eliot could probably hear his heartbeat, but feeling him was enough. Still, loathe as he was to do it, Eliot nudged Quentin a little to stir him.

 

“Hey, we should probably get you to bed. I’m sure coming back from the dead was exhausting and all, but I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

 

“Mm, fine,” Quentin’s voice was an utterly endearing sleepy mumble, and Eliot felt his heart practically shift in his chest.

 

He got Quentin up, and together they stumbled back towards Eliot’s room.

 

“Quentin has obviously had a very exciting day but he needs his rest now, goodnight everyone,” Eliot yelled for anyone still in the apartment.

 

“Please don’t have sex in my apartment,” Kady said seriously, and Eliot laughed just as he heard Margo laughing from another room.

 

Margo said, “Oh if they do, it’ll be loud enough you’ll know.”

 

Quentin blushed a little, and laughed, and Eliot kissed the top of his head. “That’s going to wait, obviously.”

 

“Obviously,” Quentin agreed, but still, he smiled. “Then again, I don’t know that I’m really the loud one anyways, so.”

 

Eliot laughed, surprised, and they teased back and forth as they made their way to the bedroom. They probably would only sleep for tonight, because Quentin actually did look exhausted, and Eliot was more tired than he’d let on, but ahead of them - well. They had everything ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that's the end of this particular road everyone! i hope you enjoyed the ride! this fic ended up sort of different in general from my original idea of it, but i like where it took me. i hope you did too! please feel free to let me know what you thought, either here or on tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> i literally started watching this show like. a month and a half ago? after seeing people talk about it for so long. i fell head over heels in love with quentin and eliot and their story and then - well. the finale happened and it kind of felt like diving headfirst into a pool and then realizing someone had drained it, but only when it was way too late to stop. so here i am! writing the first fic i've written in ages because i can't stop myself. i have like lkajsdf several happy aus and another fix it fic i'd like to write after this one so! if you're enjoying this stay tuned for more, and feel free to follow my magicians tumblr @filloryandfurthest or to talk to me in the comments here! i'd love to know what you think


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